


you're blood, and i'm all bled out

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bottom Hercules Hansen, Canon Compliant, M/M, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:25:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4117015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott remains who he has, left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're blood, and i'm all bled out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelyorbent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyorbent/gifts).



> bc you mentioned you enjoyed [you’re blood, and i’m just skin and flesh](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2290889) and i’ve always wanted to write a sequel of some sort to it, i figured i had a good excuse for this. It neither compares in word count or plot but I hope you might get a tiny, tiny fix of bottom!Herc.

Three months after the Breach closes, an ex-Jaeger pilot gets a call.

There are not many of them left, but it is none of the usual ones. It is Scott Hansen with his eyes resting over his brother’s name, his phone vibrating against the surface of his kitchen counter. And there is, without a doubt, an uncertainty to whether he wants to pick it up at all.

Because there are two things that he knows by then.

Two things that are made clear to a world without the Kaiju war.

One, that _Striker Eureka_ is gone. Two, that not all of her pilots are.

Scott picks up on the last ring. There is no coincidence to that. His brother is not about to call again, and there is nothing instinctual about it despite knowing in both mind and gut.

“…Hercules.”

Scott doesn’t mind that he might always be the one to start anything between them. He can be the match and the spark and everything else but he wants this to be different. He wants to know _why_ without asking for just that.

There is a long pause.

“…I said I would, Scotty. Last time I saw you.”

It is as much of an explanation for Scott as it is for Herc.

Scott doesn’t doubt that it probably already took everything of Herc to make this single call to him alone. There is no inland bar for them to head to, to duck into and exit as a pair of someone else altogether this time around.

Scott is not resigned.

He refuses to let himself become that.

“You say a lot of things, ‘Le.”

It’s soft in a way that they are not. Scott doesn’t let his smile turn sad, just lets the way Herc’s sharp, deprecating laugh carry down the long distance call to settle in his chest like a lead weight.

 

Hercules Hansen finds him, in the middle of the true definition of nowhere with dirt on his hands, dust on his clothes, and his skin warmed by the sun. He still has those obnoxious shades but he’s lost the sharp corners burning at the edge of all that want.

Herc thinks it is a variation of the same thing that drives Scott Hansen’s every move but when Scott lays a palm flat against his chest, it is Herc who has his fingers closing around the hem of his brother’s cotton shirt in greeting.

“It hasn’t been that long, has it?” He asks when Herc’s fingers snag into the worn fabric, has it wearing down with the grip he’s got on him.

“No, not really.”

Except it has been over a year, almost two.

Those last days of the war have not been kind to anyone, and there is a desperation Herc associates with Scott that’s all over himself nowadays.

“Well, I’ve missed you too, ‘Le.”

This is Hercules Hansen without his boy, without Charlie, and Scott’s older brother has been a father since he was twenty-three. Scott wants to be many things for him, Scott wants to be his everything. But what he cannot be is a replacement for what’s already lost.

Scott’s not about to pretend that he’s got any clue as to what Herc needs from him now.

 

In one word, the place is simple.

Herc cannot read into that, not even when Scott leads him up the stairs to a room that can only be a guestroom. The bed is not perfectly made and the corners are left untucked but there is no concrete in the walls and no steel in the door.

“You knew I was coming.”

“You called ahead, didn’t you?”

Scott doesn’t mention the IKEA run he made, the splinter he’s got from putting together the bed or the white sheets he nearly dyed pink. Scott also doesn’t mention that it’s been three months since that phone call.

This is neither the nice hotel rooms nor the barely decent motels Scott takes Herc when he is looking for a reminder that he will always need him for just this. To wear away the edges of his mind until it isn’t so sharp, until he can manage to step inside the Conn-Pod again and again and not weigh down the entire headspace with everything that he is.

There is no cruelty or kindness in the way he’s wanted him only when he’s needed him.

But a room like this doesn’t tell them a thing.

It’s a slate wiped blank, and what their fingertips are dirty with might not just be paint.

Between them, it’s a whole lot of a tangled past that has never been all that clean. This, neither of them can forget. Scott has been sixteen for barely a week.

He is on his knees before his brother.

If it is a number Herc is looking for, this is all Scott can give him, and Herc knows it. He does, and it is a fact that burns a hole through his pockets.

Scott might not be any good at this but he is sixteen and his brother is nineteen and it takes very little to get either one of them off. It isn’t about that though, not when it feels a little like punishment when he is crawling into his lap, handsy in all the ways that make Herc ache, and Scott knows that all too well too.

The weight of him steadies though even with the way the bones of his body dig into his brother’s.

That is another thing none of them mentions.

He shoves and he clamps down with his bitten nails on the edge of too tight. He is the scrape of teeth against the underside of his cock, the tongue dragging with too much pressure over the head, and the cause of the hiss from between his teeth. He is not finesse or skills, or anything remotely resembling what Herc should want. But here he is, there they were: Scott reaching for Hercules with their release still clinging to his palms, reaching for him for a tilt of his jaw, and finally, a kiss on the mouth.

He doesn’t tell him _no_ like he should.

(It goes both ways.)

 

The confession Scott might never make is that he wants him, in love, and in his bed.

He wants, and maybe, that’s the saddest thing to come of this when the two of them have always reduced everything between them into something of a necessity.

The room starts with a wooden door and a lock that is not pretending to do a thing. It starts with Herc leaving his bag by it and taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

“You’ve survived that,” Scott says from where he stands because this is as far as mourning goes for him. He doesn’t know how to help him, dead is dead is dead, “You’ll survive this too.”

They have too many empty coffins between them to lay down comfortably with the dirt cool against their skin. There are too many splinters in their hands from digging at empty graves for this to go the way they wish it would.

“I’m tired of surviving.”

“How do you think I feel?”

His head’s not a good place, he doubts Herc’s any better. In all honesty, Scott misses the vicious bites his brother demands of him, at least that he knows what to do with. They have gone too long without a single try at healing, he cannot see how this scar will look at the end of everything.

All he knows is that this will not end silvery and smooth. If this is a love story, and Scott Hansen is not a man for one, this would still make it the absolute, worst one.

“Don’t go yet.”

It reverberates, not so much as it echoes, into the bone.

Those words settle even when they are not heavy.

Scott walks those five steps to the bed in reply.

 

In the dark, there is a resemblance of this room to the one from their childhood.

Even without the bunk beds and the corner of the shared desk they take turns running their knees into, Scott can almost hear his older brother rustling around to turn his head into his pillow just to muffle the insistent whisper of his name in the dark for attention.

An innocent thing left forgotten in all the rooms and the dirty sheets they’ve dragged each other through. With Scott adding another finger, Herc turning his head into the pillow to swallow down all the noises trying to get out, and their names bitten apart like hard candy tasting anything but sweet on their tongues.

To think that this is where they end up.

He still comes when he calls, he doubts that will change.

Scott wakes up to the sight of Hercules seeking from him what he’s always been willing to give, and he almost thinks it could be a dream to have Herc pushing him into the bed. The give of his mouth is easy, the push of his tongue hot. He is still in his shirt and pants, his boots barely kicked off at the side of the bed. But Herc has nothing but the scars on his body and a chain around his neck with too many dogtags.

The names disappear in the swing, in the clink of metal and the dark.

The dead have no place here but they are already trapped between the press of their bodies.

He doesn’t ask him if this is what he wants.

Hercules has been a man medicating himself for years, and maybe it’s not healthy but they are both _still_ here.

Scott gives Herc that comfort of sinking his knees into the mattress, the weight of his fingers curling around his hip as Herc sits astride him. Scott lets him undo the belt he’s forgotten about before he fell asleep on a guest bed that might be more dust than warmth, watches him as he reaches out to push a thumb between his teeth and waits for Herc to let out what could’ve been a whine before he bites down.

Scott doesn’t think this is what they should be doing but Scott doesn’t know how to help a man that doesn’t want his help. What Herc wants—

Well, Scott's never been able to say, he just stays put as he has him taking charge.

A thing Scott knows Herc resents.

It is not any sort of punishment, not this time around. Unlike all the previous times where Scott asks him exactly what he needs of him, in details that he knows Herc has had run through his mind a hundred times.

But words are a different thing.

He will always give Herc what he needs but the parts that are exclusively for Scott is in how Herc can hardly get the words off of his tongue in asking for him to be less than gentle even though he will sink to his knees and open his mouth to take him in too deep. It is in the sight of his brother reaching back to slick himself up for him with the push of his fingers. It is also the swell of his mouth halfway to the start of his name and the flush that goes all the way down to the dip of his spine.

This is not the same.

There is no need.

That is lost, with _Striker_ and Charlie and the whole of PPDC.

There is no need for this when he does it, not anymore, not with the scrape of the zipper of Scott’s opened fly or the drive and the spread of him as he takes him deeper and maybe rougher than he should. Herc has never been careful with himself, he is not about to start.

Not when Scott remains who Hercules has left.

Scott can only imagine Herc to have trouble believing that this isn’t the punishment he deserves.

 

XXX Kuro

**Author's Note:**

> The detail of 'Le as a nickname goes to [SublimeDiscordance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance/), as always! :D


End file.
